


A Crash Without A Fall

by Lonewritersclub



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Batjokes, Duck Feeding, Fluff and Angst, For The Masses, Gotham, Heartbreak, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oneshot, amnesiac bruce and J, breaking up, just plain sad, reminds a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonewritersclub/pseuds/Lonewritersclub
Summary: Joker has been released, Bruce stumbles upon him in the Gotham Gardens. Bruce is smiling, Joker is wearing white. Things have changed.





	A Crash Without A Fall

apparently, it’s become an unnatural day. bruce just needed to have a breather. he left his office without saying a word to anyone. he didn’t notify alfred nor did he notify the security officer by the door. he simply left in need of getting out as soon as possible even if just for a while, no matter if they would start worrying after him again. after having been gone for such a long time, he was nowadays keeping them on their tippy toes just by being alive and around.

bruce didn’t care about such things, however, and with his interest placed only in fleeing his imposing office and colleagues, he eventually found himself in the gotham gardens.

there, by the vast clear pond, along the gravelly sandy path, on the wooden park bench, bathing in the cool, sheer autumn sunlight. sat a certain old, misunderstood friend of his.

he hadn’t noticed bruce quite yet, his half-lidded eyes gazing into the shallow but bright waters of the pond that was beginning to frost over along the edges covered by frozen reeds, so bruce had time to look over him.

his hair had been cut short during his stay in the hospital but was already beginning to reach his cheekbones by now in wavy chopped strands. he still looked very much like himself although there definitely was something odd about the hollow look on his face. the strangest thing, however, still had to be the clothes he wore.

the long white tunic with it’s deep v-neckline and the accompanying white loose pants which both were probably made of flax suggested that instead of sitting out in the chilly fall weather of gotham, he might as well have been lounging about in a villa somewhere in northern africa. only the purple loafers in his feet reminded of his usual attire.

maybe this was the whole point of the operation, though. bruce couldn’t blame him for being cured and if that meant he couldn’t meet him on the roofs of gotham in the dead of night anymore… well, there was nothing to be done about that anymore.

wasn’t this was exactly what he had wanted for him from the beginning, though? after all, weren’t all the times he had bloodied his fists and chased his flimsy ass in the dark just to take him back to a padded cell supposed to eventually lead to his recovery if lucky?

at least that was what he had thought.

the rest of the people in the park take the farthest route they can when passing him by on the bench without looking _overly_ suspicious. nonetheless he must have noticed it by now, too. bruce isn’t so sure whether he still enjoys it as much as he had before – the fear he evokes from humble passers-by.

he looks a little lonely sitting there on the bench all alone dressed in all white like a bride left at the altar with that strange vacant look on his face.  so bruce silently walks over to him and sits down on the other side of the bench. next to him but not _quite_ to accommodate to whatever he might want from this encounter.

this spikes his attention to bruce and they both turn to look at each other at the same time. a familiar spark returns the green eyes then and an almost-smile rises to his pale pink lips. bruce answers to it warmly.

“hello, jay.”

bruce imagines to a time when his eyes would crinkle a little at the corners.

“hi.”

his voice is soft and kind, lost of all malicious intent and razor blades. his eyes and the arch of his eyebrows, too, resemble a re-found tenderness to them. from now making that remark, bruce realizes he’s sensitive now – bruce can hurt him – even if he wouldn’t want to.

he puts mind into looking as unthreatening and benevolent as possible despite having no ill intentions anyway.

“it’s nearly below zero. aren’t you cold?” bruce asks to follow up, sincerely concerned for his wellbeing as he looks over his thin linen shirt.

this time jay truly smiles. the same laugh lines and dips form on his sharp features but yet again it’s different now - it’s utterly gentle. he looks back over to the pond where ducks are having some of their last swims of the year, and a cool breeze whips some of his evergreen shiny locks back to reveal more of his smooth pale complexion to bruce’s devouring eyes.

the soft yellow light takes a liking to his skin.

“i don’t mind the cold,” he says.

he reaches down next to him on the other side of the bench and takes out a loaf of white bread in his lap which bruce notices only now. he tears out a few pieces from it that he throws into the water for the ducks.

the duckies go crazy for it and splash water around as they wolf down their gratuitous snack.

jay turns back to bruce with a mellow content expression and offers the loaf to him.

“hungry? i can feed you too,” he asks.

“i’m fine, but thanks.”

then they sit in a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the lovely scenery. jay throws more bread chunks for the ducks every once in a while whilst passing joggers ogle at bruce for sitting next to a former criminal they think is nothing but irredeemable. bruce doesn’t pay attention to them.

after a while, though, when bruce steals another glance at jay (the first one being during another gust of wind when he observes two identically shaped, healed and barely noticeable burn marks on either side of jay’s temples which makes bruce’s hands form into fists unconsciously), he notices him shiver faintly and thinks maybe it’s time he moved somewhere warm indoors.

“jay?” bruce arouses him. he takes his eyes off the ducks to smile softly at bruce again, now with a curious expression. “i think you’re starting to get a little cold,” he tells him and leans towards him slightly so they wouldn’t be so far apart. jay looks down at his own shirt and to his bare forearms as if to check if bruce’s right. goosebumps have risen on the pale flesh, assumedly a long time ago, but that doesn’t seem to have arisen to his mind nor bothered him earlier.

“why don’t i take you home where it’s warmer, hm?” bruce proposes as he lays a friendly hand on his bony shoulder, close to his neck. jay glances at it for a moment before shyly tracking down the length of bruce’s arm back to his eyes.

“okay.”

they stroll over to the nearest bus stop. jay guides them to take the bus number 12. jay insists on paying the fair for them both. they sit down in the middle row. bruce voluntarily takes the slippery plastic seat on the aisle side so that jay can look out of the window.

it takes about fifteen minutes in the musky bus before they have arrived at their destination. jay smiles over his shoulder as he hops off the bus with bruce in his tail. a couple of blocks away resides a short block of flats that has seen better days but is enamoured with plenty of trees parading in their vibrant fall colors.

the place is some sort of a group home. however, jay has been given an apartment all to himself. there may have been many reasons for that having been done but there’s no denying that one decisive factor almost certainly has been the fact that most residents wouldn’t be quite so comfortable with living so near to him yet.

he apologizes for the non-existent mess in his apartment as they enter the humble abode situated at the third highest floor of the building. he has a view to the parking lot and to the quiet street from his living room that shares space with his little kitchen. everything looks spotless apart from the many, slightly shabby, blankets thrown recklessly over the furniture that came with the apartment. the walls coated in floral wallpaper are practically hidden with the countless paintings that have been hung up on every possible vertical surface.

“have you made these?” bruce asks politeness and curiosity as he observes the paintings where he’s standing by the door. the one he’s currently regarding has much depth and brightness to it despite being quite abstract. a full body portrait of an eerie but a realistic perception of a female person in move – many hands and feet in different positions as if she had been painting while moving in slow-motion. it’s brilliant.

“uh, yes. art-therapy,” he says and chuckles sounding in fact a touch embarrassed. he has gone to the kitchen and is filling a kettle with water from the tap.

bruce muses as he inspects more of his paintings.

“would you like some coffee? or tea, perhaps?” he asks bruce in amidst of all the clinking of kitchenware.

“i wouldn’t mind coffee,” bruce says with a smile and makes his way to the two seated round table in the kitchen area. jay nods as he looks over his shoulder to him with a smirk. a caring one.

he works in quiet and bruce waits patiently by the table gazing over the worn markings on the wood. he notices a specific looking one in one the corners, something that hasn’t come with old age and lots of use.

a little bat flying over the edge into the wooden floors below. bruce actually squints down and truly does see another bat carved into the floorboard next to the table leg. flying away.

he sits up straighter when a mug is placed down in front of him on the table, full of steaming black coffee.

“you did take it black, didn’t you?” jay confirms looking at bruce through his pale lashes as he sinks down to take a sip of his own coffee – five sugars and plenty of milk.

“yes,” bruce reassures him and smiles at the thought of him remembering how he takes his coffee although he’s only made it for him once before. then again, it’s probably not all that hard to guess either.

bruce takes a sip and feels the strong, aromatic liquid spread out its warmth in his chest. it’s excellent. exactly the right amount of bitterness and roast. almost beats alfred’s coffee even though the coffee beans for this pot probably hadn’t been harvested in the fine, fruitful lands of ethiopia and bought from a high-end coffee shop like his are. it is rather remarkable.

the silence stretches out again and even though it’s not an uncomfortable one, bruce is looking forward to hearing jay speak again. just to listen to him and his rich and soft voice if he’s honest.

“bruce?”

he suddenly murmurs in a very quiet unsure voice and it’s the first time he’s said bruce’s name in a long time, and he wishes he would never ever stop saying it.

“yes?”

bruce looks up to him twirling his spoon in the mug that’s from good will and waits eagerly. jay looks a little pained though and keeps his eyes in his coffee. it makes bruce’s heartbeat stop for a little bit and then thump again in a disordered manner. or so it feels from the apprehension.

the spoon clinks against the white ceramic edge and stops.

“i’m not really the same anymore…”

the battering of his heart ends with the flutter of jay’s breath. bruce listens to this confession with a strange sense of simplicity. after all, it wasn’t something he already didn’t know. moreover, it was meant to be this way. a _recovery_.

the green eyes peel away from the table top slowly and then blink at bruce. “and i don’t think i can go back to being that either”, he adds. that same vacant look has taken residence in his eyes again and bruce wants to reach forward and brush against jay’s faint eyelids with his fingers and stroke it away so that they would go back to their twinkling, playful selves again.

“i know,” bruce says instead, while it’s still earnest. he relents and repositions his hands around the warm mug. the rim has been chipped from the right, near the handle.

jay keeps staring at him but this time bruce can’t really hold his gaze in return.

he rises up from his seat slowly and measuredly, softly pads over to bruce’s side. bruce stands up too, altruistically, and then they are standing just a few inches away from touching each other. jay has to lean back his head to look at bruce like usual (and bruce’s heart twinges a little) and bruce cranes down to look back at him in turn.

frequently in these moments the few inches between them would become lost in just a couple of seconds, but… there’s a difference now - a sense of dreadful, bittersweet finality that bruce cannot get himself to proceed towards because, as in all truth, he _doesn’t_ want it to end _(they should have been gradually moulding into one being until no ember of light could have infiltrated them)._

bruce just watches the sunlight manage to make its way through the trees and through the windows to play with the deep greens of his hair and the wells of his the eyes that are thankfully beginning to live up again, unfooled by his own emotions, becoming flooded by them instead.

bruce wouldn’t have been able to stand it otherwise. in no circumstance could he have looked into the emerald of his eyes and seen _nothing_ when this took place.

when he starts speaking, though, he averts his eyes’ to bruce’s mouth instead of his eyes. bruce isn’t sure if he should be grateful or feel betrayed.

“because of that,” he begins and bruce can _feel_ how it hurts him to cough up the words, “i think it would be best if we didn’t… continue this anymore.”

bruce tries to keep breathing steadily the best he can. remind himself of basic human functions the first second and not do anything reckless the second due to the poisonous smoke bomb, jay had set in his chest in the very start, having now exploded and envenoming him progressively with it’s stream of toxins. his special brand of it.

it feels a lot like crashing but without the wind tearing at your clothes.

he reminds himself of the reality of the situation. the words jay uttered. what’s the real nature of the situation – and how he is right. as much as it hurts to recognize it.

the reality:  the truth he had been trying to tell him all those years finally taken in – and now it’s pushing him away when he has finally realized that maybe he would rather live in the lie.

but bruce cannot deny him anything. nothing. not really. never really could. all he had been doing, was deny himself. and now he pays the price of righteousness with blood of his beloved.

bruce finds himself having been staring at the wall, thus one of jay’s paintings, so intensely, unblinking, that his eyes are beginning to burn with tears. a painting of a cityscape in black and yellow, a hooded figure hidden amongst the shading.  

so he lowers his gaze and looks back to jay who, too, has braved to confront bruce with all his exposed vulnerability.

“i’m sorry,” he says. whispers. cries.

“it’s okay.”

bruce comforts him. this time he doesn’t deny himself as he places his palm on the pale cheek and brushes his thumb along his temple lovingly, silky green locks flowing between his fingers like the crystal clear, freezing water where the ducks he had fed, had splashed around before winter would shoo them away.

he closes his eyes and breathes peacefully in the sole presence Bruce envelops him in.

 _this is for the best_ , he thinks and bruce adds a nod for good measure to himself and his resolute thoughts when he exits back out into the chilly weather _. and if not, it is what happened - what he wanted. what he needed. what I could give to him. what I had always told him. what he now believed in - the reality._

all in all, the excruciating pain bruce expected to feel doesn’t in fact come.

instead, a dull aching expands inside his chest with each step he takes away from him on the cracked asphalt. he supposes it’ll slowly fill him up to the brim and then ultimately overflow at a weak point. in that moment it will lead him to truly crash and collapse and the wind will tear at his clothes.

until then, he will go on for as long as he can keeping true to his ever-present promise.

he will probably never know how long ago was it when those little bats were carved into the wood. the only faith he now has is that at least he’s going to know if any more do appear. all he can do for now is to keep moving forward, one step at a time. yet, that is hardly the same as letting go. the only thing he has let go is the one he loves the most. though somehow he still feels like he’s clinging on if only to the mere beam of cold sunlight that hit the green.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry about the angst but my inspiration was set the day I found this weather setting during on my wandering to the outside.  
> By the way, would someone like to come up with a name for this work? I just can't seem to come up with a good enough title and I'd really like one since I'm kind of actually proud of this one (I actually reread it for grammar and that, though you can still probably find some anyway). I'll credit you here if I find your suggestion fitting and decide to pick it :) Would really love to hear your thoughts on this one anyways, too. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Oh, and I must credit altered_eagle for the inspiration for this "anti-caps lock" formatting style although theirs is much creative. Mind if I also recommend their works as well as they are truly superb (though beware, they can get pretty medically gory).


End file.
